The Beast and His Beauty
by standasawitness
Summary: Inspired by the fairytale Beauty and the Beast. Molly is forced to become a permanent visitor of a foreboding castle. Is there more to the resident beast than she thinks? Is he still a man, or is he truly a monster?
1. Chapter 1

The Beast and His Beauty

 _A/N: I own absolutely nothing except my obsession with the show and the characters._

* * *

Under normal circumstances, Molly would be entirely enchanted by the rose gardens she was walking through. The impossible place should have captured her attention. A thriving garden in the middle of a wild forest with a foreboding castle rising in the background was precisely what she would have loved to explore and study.

However, these were certainly not normal circumstances. Molly paced rapidly around, feeling more and more constricted despite being outdoors. She felt like the gates around the castle were slowly getting closer to her, trapping her even more thoroughly. How did she come to this? She had so many plans for her life, and now…now she was a prisoner, a prisoner of a terrible man, a monster.

* * *

 _The Previous Day:_

Molly and her father had always been close. After the death of her mother, their relationship only strengthened. She would do anything for the man, and she officially proved that fact true the day before. The two of them were traveling through the forest on their way to sell some of Molly's baked goods in town. Although they had made the journey from their isolated cottage numerous times before, this time, somehow, they managed to take a wrong turn and become hopelessly lost. Just as the sun set and the forest became dark, her father spotted a castle ahead of them. With a sigh of relief, they stepped through the creaky gates and slowly entered the old castle. It was dark inside, but it was warm, and they felt safe. Oh, how they were wrong.

The wandered into a room off of the main entrance and found a small study. Her father started a fire in the large fireplace and with the additional light, Molly looked around curiously. The room was masculine in design and décor, with minimal furnishings. Molly wandered towards the full bookshelf behind the desk and perused the titles. She was surprised to realize that she had read many of them herself! A majority of the tomes related to the fields of science and medicine. Despite her gender, Molly's father often brought home such books to satisfy her interests in the topics and to expand her mind. That was one of the reasons she loved him so: his encouragement of her rather inappropriate (for a woman) education.

As she gently pulled an interesting title off the shelf, movement in the periphery of her vision caught her attention. She turned in surprise to see a large figure filling the doorway. An inhuman growl rolled through the room over her as the silhouette moved slightly into the room.

"Who are you," it growled, "and why are you here?"

Molly's father recovered from the fright and answered, "We are so sorry to bother you, sir, but we were lost in the forest and saw your castle as the sun set. If you will just allow us to stay here for the night, we will be out of your way in the morning. We have no money, but we can pay you in baked goods…my daughter made them, and they are quite delicious!"

The shadow, who had yet to step fully into the light, growled again. "Leave now," he roared.

The two intruders stumbled out of the study in fear and rushed towards the front doors of the castle. Molly, in her haste, had failed to place the book properly back on the shelf. Right as they flung the door open, they heard a terrible shout behind them, telling them to stop.

"You have touched my belongings, moved my things. I cannot allow this to go unpunished. One of you must stay with me. Decide now."

Molly had never liked bullies. She gathered her courage and stood up as high as her short stature would allow, and shouted, "Who are you to keep us here? We apologized for our intrusion, we left when you asked. You can do no more to us. My father and I shall both leave; there is no need to be unreasonable!"

The stranger stepped forward, into a dim pool of light cast by a torch on the wall. Both Molly and her father gasped in shock as a tall man appeared, scars crisscrossing his face with wildly overgrown sideburns, turning his face into one more of an animal than a man. His large stature combined with his unkempt hair and the scars altogether served to create a rather grotesque, nearly monstrous image.

"You will obey, or suffer the wrath of the beast of this castle. Your insolence shall not be forgiven so easily. One shall stay."

Molly's father looked at her, pleading quietly with his head-strong, yet quiet daughter. "Margaret, please, go. I will stay. I cannot allow you to suffer for my mistake. It's my fault we got lost. Please. Save yourself. I've lived my life, and I'll stay with this…beast…you go, live."

Through a couple of quiet sobs, Molly refused her father's request. "No, Father. You know that I will do anything for you. It's my chance to prove it. I'll be fine. I'm the one who moved the book, who touched his things. I can take care of myself. There's nothing there for me anyways. At four and twenty, my future has pretty much been sealed. Perhaps I can do something here. I love you, Father, but I cannot allow you to do this. Go."

Before he could react, she set her shoulders and turned to the figure standing in the entrance hall. "I shall stay with you, if you let my father go." She stepped just out of reach of her father's grasping arms. "Go, Father. I love you, but you must go. I have made my decision."

"Very well," the strange man uttered, nearly gliding towards them. He shoved Molly's father through the door and locked it, before turning to glower down at the girl. "You are mine, then? What's your name, girl?"

"M..M..Margaret Hooper. Molly," she stammered, trying to hold back her tears. No need to show weakness to this creature, if she could avoid it.

"Well, Molly. Welcome to my humble abode." His smirk, which may have at one time been dashing, even handsome, was turned into something evil by the scars pulling at his lips. "Follow me."

Without looking to see if she was following, he stalked up a flight of stairs, before entering a small bedroom. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk and chair filled the space. Unlike the rest of the castle that Molly had seen, this room actually seemed feminine and inviting, rather than masculine and intimidating, with soft lavenders and warm yellows decorating the bed and curtaining the window.

"Sleep well. We'll talk about your future in the morning." With that, the stranger turned to leave.

"Wait, sir, please…if I'm going to be staying with you, may I at least know your name?"

He turned around again, pausing in the doorway to look at her, a strange expression on his face. As he pulled the door shut, he growled out, "The name's Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

 _A/N: I am playing with the idea of expanding this into a longer story, but for now, it's complete as a one-shot. I thought it was a good place to leave it. I'll just have to see where the ideas take me! Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate to review!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed that first chapter, especially the guests, who I cannot thank personally. It is because of you that this is going to be continued!_

 _I don't own anything except the mistakes._

* * *

That first night, Molly didn't sleep at all. She spent the entire time laying in the bed thinking of her father and the stranger – Sherlock Holmes – and the new circumstances she found herself in. Realizing that sleep was not going to be coming, she left the room as soon as the sun was beginning to rise. At some point, she wanted to explore the castle a little more, but she was honestly a little afraid of accidentally stumbling upon its master, so she slipped out the front door into the gardens. That was where Sherlock found her about an hour later.

Molly was startled out of her thoughts when the deep voice came from the shadows beneath the trees, half hidden in the thick, overgrown and untamed bushes. "You didn't sleep at all last night." She noticed that it was a statement, not a question, and wondered again what kind of man she was now living with. Rather than responding to his comment, she made one of her own. "You never come into the light. Why? Why do you hide yourself in the shadows, locked away in this castle?"

He slowly eased his way into the garden, allowing Molly her first look at him in true light. His wild appearance was not lessened by the daylight, the hair still animalistic and the scars still menacing, but she was able to see more. His eyes were a stunning blue and he had pleasing features beneath the scars, with a strong nose and sharp cheekbones. He was tall and carried himself in a way that suggested formidable strength, yet appeared almost gaunt, as if he went days on end without eating or sleeping. He was full of contradictions, and Molly was not quite sure what to think. All she knew was that she recognized a hidden sadness in his eyes, beneath the anger that, to her, was so obviously a façade.

"This is why I stay in the dark. I'm a monster. You can surely see that. Of course, you can't have seen many men, considering your spinster status, so you may not know how they are supposed to look. It's not surprising, considering your too-small mouth, age, and poverty. You have nothing to convince a potential suitor to even look at you." His derisive tone hurt more than the words, but Molly still flinched back away from him. A flash of…something unrecognizable entered his eyes and he quickly retreated into the shadows again.

Any momentary sympathy she felt for Sherlock's inner sadness and apparent self-anger disappeared instantly, replaced with a fury of her own. "I don't care how you seem to know more about me than you possibly should. That was entirely inappropriate. You may not care for propriety, but I do!"

"Mhmm, no you don't. Propriety dictates that you should not have any interest in medicine. Yet you do. You're not exactly the icon of propriety or society's role model."

"Why do you always say such horrible things?" With that, Molly spun on her heel and walked as quickly as she could without losing her dignity back into the castle. Fuming, she stormed up the main stairway and paced angrily through the hallway leading to her assigned room. Tears blurred her vision: she was fairly certain that they were from anger, rather than pain, as that was currently her dominant emotion. Molly recognized that she would likely cry from the pain of his scathing remarks later, but the anger was winning out. She wanted nothing more than to leave, but despite his rude suggestion that she cares little for society, as true as it may be, she was a woman of honor, and she would keep her word. Molly tried breathing deeply to calm her temper and tried to reason with herself.

"It's not that bad. He's not that bad. He simply spoke the truth. How he could read me like that, I have no idea. He still had no right to do so. He was correct about one thing though: he is a monster! … How can I stay? … How can I leave? What am I going to do?"

Her inner monologue was interrupted by the appearance of a stranger at the end of the hall. The motherly woman immediately began speaking as soon as she laid eyes on Molly's tense figure. "Oh, dear, I am so sorry to intrude. I was told that there was a young lady staying here, but I'm afraid that I didn't quite believe Sherlock. Yet, here you are! How lovely to meet you! I'm Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's … well, he'd call me his housekeeper, but I'd call me his … caretaker. And what's your name, dear?"

She smiled, immediately liking this charming woman. "Mrs. Hudson, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Molly Hooper. I was actually unaware that anybody else lived here." She also wondered how such a kind woman could bear to live with such a beast of a man, but refused to verbalize such a thought.

"Oh, yes dear! Along with Sherlock and myself, there's a couple of other staff members that Sherlock retained after his accident. Oh, I shouldn't have brought that up. Anyways, Mr. John Watson, the family doctor is still here. I'd say he's Sherlock's best friend. And there's also Mr. Gregory Lestrade, who is the stable master. Between you and me, he's also more of a friend than anything else. Sherlock doesn't like to admit to caring, but why else would he keep us around?"

Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson was interrupted by a deep voice, "Perhaps I should remedy that situation then, shall I Mrs. Hudson?" The woman in question squealed a little before hastening back the way she had come, as quickly as her stiff limbs would allow.

Remaining in the shadows along the wall, Sherlock again addressed Molly. "I apologize for my behavior earlier. I am not used to showing restraint; however, as you shall be around for longer than most people, I suppose I can make an effort."

Hiding her surprise at the unexpected apology, Molly replied, "I know that must have been quite difficult for you. Under the circumstances, I accept it. But you should know, considering how much you already seem to know about me, that I am not like other women, and I will not hesitate to put you in your place. You think yourself a monster, above being human, but I know that you are just a man, and are certainly more than capable of behaving yourself. Don't expect me to be cowed by your terrifying appearance or determination to remain a mystery."

Sherlock was stunned momentarily into silence by her unladylike outburst, not to mention the unnerving way that she saw _him_ , not his projected persona, but his actual inner thoughts, this woman who barely knew him! He finally responded, "That would apparently be difficult, as you somehow see me even when others don't." He left immediately after he finished speaking, needing some time to think about the newest addition to his household and what to do with her. He couldn't help but wonder if he had made a mistake by making her stay. What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

 _A/N: I apologize for any OOCness that might be here. I'm doing my best to keep them in character, but I just can't see Molly being reduced to a stammering mess around him. She's not exactly a "normal" woman for the time, so I don't think she would be terribly bothered by calling him out. As she gets to know him better, the shy Molly we know and love may make more of an appearance. I'd appreciate any thoughts or constructive suggestions you have! Please review!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything._

* * *

Over the next few days, Molly developed a bit of a routine. Each morning, she would dress and spend some time in the rose garden. It was the one place on the property where she felt that she could think, feel some semblance of freedom. She refused to let the sense of captivity get to her and being outside helped soothe her soul. Without her books and opportunities to explore and learn about the world, as she was used to, she found that the days moved slowly. In the gardens, Molly was able to study the plants; her sketch book was soon filled by the pieces she examined. It brought some joy into her otherwise boring new life.

Each afternoon, she had tea with Mrs. Hudson. The older woman and Molly got on incredibly well, and the female companionship was most welcome. Often, Mr. Lestrade or Mr. Watson would join them for tea. After meeting both gentlemen, Molly was struck by how contrasting they were from Mr. Holmes. It was an unlikely grouping of people living in that castle.

The only inhabitant of the castle that she did not see was the mysterious host himself. After their argument, Molly had seen not one sign of Mr. Holmes' presence. If she didn't let herself think about it, she could almost believe that he was not real, that it was all a terrible dream. However, she was unable to completely convince herself that he was not real. Their fight weighed heavily on her. Despite her firm commitment to her position, knowing that he needed to be put in his place, she felt a slight tingling of guilt. His disappearance, she believed, was her fault. She did not want to be held responsible for chasing away the beast-man from his own home! Was she too proud to apologize? Could she apologize? Should she apologize? Molly spent quite some time reflecting on Mr. Holmes and her next course of action. After all, she lived in the same domain as the man; couldn't they pretend to get along?

* * *

About a week after her arrival, Molly finally had come to a decision. Despite his absolutely beastly behavior, she would be the bigger man (woman, thank you very much) and apologize. Even if her efforts were ignored, or her presence rebuffed, she would attempt. Something about Mr. Holmes drew her towards him. She could not explain what, but she hoped for an opportunity to learn more about him, become his friend. Perhaps it was the flash of 'something' in his eyes, the empty desire for something more. Maybe it was the way that he hid behind his non-human persona, trying to bury the very things that made him human. Their few interactions left an interesting image in her mind. She felt that she _knew_ him, the real him, and could see things that he kept hidden inside. Molly had the impression that Mr. Holmes felt lonely, needed another friend. Though, she doubted he would admit it.

Maybe she was making it all up. Maybe she was completely and utterly wrong, and Mr. Holmes was truly nothing more than a cold-hearted machine, incapable of feeling, undesiring of any form of human contact. She suspected otherwise, but it was a possibility. The only way to learn anything was to ask.

So, she broached the subject during afternoon tea. On this particular afternoon, Mrs. Hudson and Molly were joined only by Mr. Watson, as Mr. Lestrade was busy trying to break in a new horse for the master. Molly took that as a sign: Mr. Holmes was still in residence, simply avoiding her, so she would go ahead with her plan to apologize and befriend the poor man.

"Mrs. Hudson," Molly began when the conversation had dulled to a quiet interlude, "I was wondering something. I haven't seen Mr. Holmes around lately. Is he all right?" Molly thought that it was a safe beginning. She hoped to be able to dig some solid information out of the woman, but if nothing else, she could at least (possibly) learn the reason for his disappearance.

A brief flash of surprise crossed the older woman's face before she answered. "How kind of you to ask, dear. Sherlock is just fine! I suppose he is just busy with a case or something. He gets like this sometimes, you know. I've only seen him a couple of times myself this week. I go into his rooms to bring him his meals – I do worry about his eating habits; they've been atrocious since he was a boy – and get absolutely no reaction! He's been so wrapped up in his mind palace." She stopped rambling towards Molly in order to turn to the other tea companion. "John, do you know what's got our boy so distracted this time?"

Mr. Watson swallowed the sip of tea he had just taken then cleared his throat and answered the kindly woman. "I think he is working on a case. I haven't seen much of him myself. He hasn't needed my assistance, but I did hear him muttering about a moat and dumbbells. I couldn't make much of it." Noting Molly's curious look, he explained, "Mr. Holmes is a consulting detective. Don't really ask me what that means; he made it up himself. People who have cases that the Bow Street Runners cannot solve, or won't take on, can come to him and he'll solve it. He lives for the challenge of the puzzle, for the chase. Or at least, he used to. Now, it is all done through correspondence. He hasn't left these walls in over five years now. But he is still as brilliant as ever."

He paused in his account, noticing Molly's rapt attention. She was fascinated by the description of Mr. Holmes' occupation and wanted to learn more, but she also noticed the mysterious change that Mr. Watson mentioned. She wondered if Mr. Holmes' cessation of active case-involvement had anything to do with the "accident" that Mrs. Hudson had mentioned the previous week.

As she absorbed the information that she had just learned, a calculating gleam crept into the former soldier's eyes (Molly had learned that Mr. Watson had served some time in the medical tent on the battlefield for his country). "Miss Hooper, I can tell that you are curious about Mr. Holmes' interests. I guarantee that if you ask him, he would love to tell you more about it. He won't stay cooped up forever and the attention would certainly appeal to him. Heaven knows the man has an ego!" This last comment was said with a sigh of resignation and affection.

"Mr. Watson, do you truly believe that Mr. Holmes would be interested in telling me about his cases? I am a woman, after all, and most gentlemen would refuse to even consider allowing a woman to engage in such a conversation."

John chuckled. "Come now, Miss Hooper, I know you've only been with us for a short while, but does Mr. Holmes strike you as a usual gentleman? He already knows of your interests in science and medicine, and will not be at all surprised to hear of your interests in his work."

Cheeks burning a little at the knowledge that Mr. Holmes had discussed her with Mr. Watson, she replied, "Well, then, I shall certainly keep that in mind. If it comes up the next time we converse, I shall ask him. I do need to speak with Mr. Holmes, however. I would like to apologize to him for my behavior."

Looking at her lap as she was, Molly missed the glance exchanged between Mrs. Hudson and John. Their silent conversation was cut off as an exultant shout echoed through the hallways and an excited man stumbled into the room. "Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson!" the deep voice boomed. "Tea, please! I am starving! Oh, what a glorious day!"

He suddenly stopped talking as he took in the group staring at him – with the exception of Molly, who was looking at her lap again. With a smirk, John asked the intruder, "Well, Holmes, I take it you solved the case?"

Although quieter, Mr. Holmes was still obviously excited, and, as he grabbed a couple of biscuits and sat down, answered his friend. "Of course. It was actually quite simple. I was quite obtuse this go around. I nearly missed it entirely. The dead man was simply not dead! It was brilliant!"

John shook his head at his friend, not bothering to ask, and smiled across the table at Molly, who looked as if she wished she could disappear entirely. "Holmes," John began, "Miss Hooper here has something to ask you."

Shooting a quick look at the man who had just shoved her in front of the racing carriage, Molly turned her attention to the detective who was now staring at her. Taking a deep breath, she began. "Mr. Holmes, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. I should not have allowed myself to lose my temper. I hope that you will be able to forgive my social faux pas." She paused again. "I was also wondering…if you would perhaps mind sharing some of your cases with me? Mr. Watson here was telling me about what you do, and it is fascinating! I would love to learn more, that is, if you'll allow me to?" Her enthusiasm had built during her request, only dying down at the end as she remembered to whom she was speaking.

As usual when he found himself in conversation with this infuriating woman, he was surprised. She apologized – to him! He knew that he was the one at fault, yet she was the one who took the first step. He wondered if he should agree to her request. It would require them to spend more time together. Although he did want to learn more about the unusual woman before him, especially to learn how she could read him so easily and why she impacted him the way she did, he feared that spending time together would only lead to more arguments. Or that she would be able to discover every secret he tried to keep hidden. That was a valid fear, and one that caused him to pause.

Making up for his friends lack of reaction as he "buffered," John sighed, effectively bringing his friend out of his mind palace. 'There's something else I'll have to explain to poor Miss Hooper.' "Holmes, you should truly consider Miss Hooper's request. She's been rather bored. You mentioned to me her interests in science. By keeping her here, you've taken her away from those interests. Don't you think you owe it to her to at least try to give her something with which to engage her mind?"

Molly was surprised at Mr. Watson's accurate reading of her feelings. She thought she had kept her boredom hidden. As a soldier, she supposed, he was used to picking up on details. He had probably pieced together things she said in order to come to such a conclusion. Until she had asked, she had no idea that she actually wanted to have such conversations with Mr. Holmes, but now that she had, she wanted it desperately. His silence hurt. She was waiting with bated breath for the imminent refusal. She watched Mr. Holmes take a breath after considering her request and Mr. Watson's input, and braced herself for disappointment.

"Miss Hooper, please allow me to apologize to you." Gasps from the audience watching this interaction hardly registered to Molly as Mr. Holmes continued speaking. "I was the one at fault. As you will come to learn during your stay here, I am not the easiest man to get along with. I will insult you again and again. However, if you are willing to put up with it, tell me when I am wrong, and forgive me when I need it, I would be delighted to entertain you with stories of my cases. I must admit, I would love to see how your mind works. You have proven yourself a worthy opponent in verbal sparring. I wonder if your quick mind will be able to follow my work and if your scientific learning (minimal though it may be) will allow you to understand. Does this meet your approval?"

Following his unexpected apology and following speech, Molly simply beamed at the intriguing man. "That sounds absolutely wonderful." She looked forward to beginning their new relationship as, hopefully, colleagues, if not friends. She hoped to be able to befriend this man and learn the reason for his inner sadness. But, if she was honest, she most looked forward to being able to think and challenge herself again. And, oh, what a challenge it would be!

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you all for your continued support! I had some massive writer's block with this chapter and could not for the life of me figure out how to get it where I wanted it to go. I'm not 100% happy with it yet, but it's good enough, I suppose. Don't be afraid to leave me some constructive feedback! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Also, the case Holmes was working on is based off a real Conan Doyle case. Props to you if you can guess which one! :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I still don't own anything!_

* * *

The weeks passed, and the summer slowly turned into autumn, which bled into the beginnings of winter. Molly met with Sherlock every day after tea in order to go over a case that Sherlock had worked on. Sherlock meant what he said: he definitely wanted to challenge Molly. It was refreshing, actually, Molly thought. He refused to back down just because she was a woman; he pushed her to reach the correct conclusion. Under his, rather unusual, tutelage, she found herself becoming more observant. Sherlock taught Molly some of his skills of deduction, how to look for the details and to draw conclusions from even the most seemingly insignificant ones. While she was quite hopeless at the beginning of their meetings, she eventually began to pick up on the minor details that allowed Sherlock to solve the case and often was able to figure out the solution before he reached that part of his retelling. Her sense of pride and accomplishment was only increased by his expression of approval, however minute it might be. He tried to hide it, but she could see the flash of surprise or even joy in his eyes when she solved a case correctly.

He also explained to her the concept of his mind palace. She found it fascinating. He remembered everything! Molly could hardly imagine what such a mind would be like. The fact that he retained so much information, and that he was able to 'delete' information, caused her to have even more respect for the man. 'How busy it must be in his head,' she thought. 'No wonder he is so rude. Social niceties are probably not his priority when he has literally hundreds of other thoughts and details begging for his attention.' This new perspective encouraged her to have more patience with Sherlock and caused her to commit even more to becoming his friend.

* * *

Occasionally, Sherlock would receive a letter from a client. During these times, their routine halted, allowing Sherlock to focus on the new case, rather than remembering old ones. The first time he took on a client after the case of the Valley of Fear, Sherlock kicked Molly out of the room, claiming she was a distraction. For about three days Molly would come to check on him only for Sherlock to refuse Molly entrance, puzzling away at the case.

On the fourth day, something changed. Having been unable to reason a conclusion, Sherlock finally admitted that he was stuck (although, not in those very words, admittedly), and requested that Molly join him. Molly was pleased that he wanted to discuss the current case with her and listened intently as Sherlock explained all the details. After hearing everything he had to say, Molly asked one question to the consulting detective for clarification. Sherlock sat up straight from his reclined position, swooped Molly up, spun her around the room, and ran off to find John. Molly took Sherlock's absence as a chance to calm her racing heart and determinedly ignore the fact that she reacted in such a way to being held in Sherlock's arms. When the man in question returned, Molly hoped that the dim lighting was enough to hide the flush that she was certain was still in her cheeks.

Sherlock explained to a still-flustered Molly that her question was insightful enough to change his mind set and allow him to piece the puzzle together. He thanked Molly for her aid, surprising her again. It was the first time that she had ever heard Sherlock Holmes thank anybody for anything!

After that first case, Sherlock requested Molly's presence each time a new client approached him with a case. Molly was only too happy to agree.

* * *

After a couple of months of working over cases together, Sherlock unexpectedly added a new facet to their routine. When Molly knocked on his door, he opened it and immediately stepped out.

"Miss Hooper. Right on time. Follow me, if you will." Sherlock started walking down the hall, and Molly followed after him. She eventually found herself in one of the castle's cellars, although it didn't appear much like a cellar. She was stunned to see laboratory equipment covering the several tables that filled the space. Magnifying devices. Jars of mysterious substances. Even a telescope was found in the corner. It was a scientist's dream. Molly pinched herself to make certain that she wasn't dreaming.

Sherlock chuckled. "It would appear, Miss Hooper, that you approve of my laboratory?"

Molly only nodded. Shaking off the stupor, she remembered herself, and spoke, "Mr. Holmes. I don't know what to say! I had no idea that this even existed! It's… it's lovely."

"This is my inner sanctum. I come here to experiment and find peace in between cases. In this room, my brain can be active, and I can engage in scientific discovery. As a woman of a scientific mind, I figured that you would be interested."

A moment of silence followed as Molly continued to stare around her. She absentmindedly walked towards one of the tables and began inspecting a little glass bowl with something growing in it. She was so focused that she did not hear Sherlock approach to stand right behind her and was startled as he spoke again. "Miss Hooper, I was wondering if you would enjoy engaging in experimentation with me? It would allow you an opportunity to further your education. I would be happy to teach you, and I could use an assistant. What do you think?"

Molly smiled at him. "Why, Mr. Holmes, I would love to assist you if it means that I get to spend time in this beautiful room and surround myself with pure science. It's a dream come true!"

With nothing more than that simple declaration, Sherlock immediately began barking instructions, handing Molly an apron in the middle of his commands. Shaking her head at his authoritarian manner, she nevertheless put on the apron and began following orders. She wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world.

* * *

They spent many pleasant afternoons in conversation about cases, both past and present, and working on experiments. They also discussed other topics as well, once they exhausted the daily problem at hand, mostly revolving around science and medicine. Molly thoroughly enjoyed, even looked forward to the hours they spent together each day, but she couldn't help but notice that they never discussed anything more personal than their joint interests in science. The man was completely silent about his past, and this caused Molly to simply wonder more about what could have happened to turn this mysterious man into the recluse that he had become. She appreciated the relationship that they were developing, but wanted to know more of the man that had taken her in and taught her so much. Of course, she was never forward enough to bring up the questions that burned so deeply within her. This would all change, however, the first week of December.

* * *

 _A/N: Well, I just want to thank all of you again for your support. You are wonderful! I apologize that this chapter was mostly interlude. It was necessary, but I know it wasn't quite the same as the previous chapters. The story will pick up again in the next one, though: I promise!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing!_

* * *

The first week of December brought with it snow, and plenty of it. Molly loved the snow: she loved the way it covered everything in a layer of white innocence. The world looked pure again. Sherlock, however, hated the snow. Mind always working, he resented the fact that it blocked the roads, meaning that he could receive no correspondence, including cases. He also hated the cold. Not one to hide his tantrums (for that is certainly what they are!), the entire castle knew Sherlock's displeasure. His shouts and arguments with anybody that he came into contact with echoed through the stone halls.

Poor Mrs. Hudson was unable to handle it any longer. "Molly, be a dear, and see if you can calm him down please? My poor nerves cannot take this! If he shouts at me one more time for the tea being one degree too hot or cold or the biscuits not properly crispy, I will simply have to quit! I adore the foolish boy, but I've had enough!"

"Mrs. Hudson," Molly began, "I understand your concerns. I will admit that his tantrums have been going on long enough. But how do you expect me to calm him down? What can I possibly do? He hasn't had any cases, and our experiments are all at a point where there is nothing to do but wait for results. What can I do?"

"He's simply bored, dear. Just…distract him! You seem to have some sort of hold over the master, and I am certain that if anybody can calm him down, you can!"

Another shout echoed from the direction of Sherlock's bedchamber, quickly followed by a gunshot.

"Oh bother! Now he's started shooting the walls again! I'll be sweeping up stone chips for ages! The last time he did this, one shard rebounded and cut his forehead. Please, Molly! I'm begging you!"

Molly took pity on the elderly woman. "Well, I'll try." And with that she marched off into the dragon's lair.

* * *

Sherlock was busy raging about his room. It was cold. It was snowy. He was bored. If he was unhappy, then nobody else in the castle could be happy. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the manners that his parents had taught him were screaming that he was acting childish. He couldn't bring himself to care. He had shouted at Mrs. Hudson, chasing her from the room. He had argued with John, getting as good as he gave, until his stubbornness won out and John stormed out. Lestrade had even made an appearance, only to turn around and leave once he saw the state that Sherlock was in. Sherlock had successfully alienated every one of his friends, except for…except for Miss Molly Hooper. She had yet to appear, and he had yet to chase her away.

Thoughts of the lovely (did he really just consider her lovely?) Miss Hooper only brought greater anger to him. She was the one aspect of his life that he couldn't control. He never knew what to expect when she was around. He could deduce her easily enough, as with anybody, and yet she continued to surprise him. This irritated him and only added to his foul mood. He was also consistently frustrated by the amount of pleasure that he felt when she smiled at him or he made her laugh. He wanted to spend time with her, enjoyed spending time with her, and this feeling of weakness turned his foul mood into something bordering on dangerous.

Tired of pacing and wanting to garner some attention from anybody, he went over to the fireplace and retrieved his revolver. Aiming it haphazardly towards the wall, on which he had chalked a rough target circle during some previous petulant state, Sherlock pulled back the hammer and fired a shot. The sound of stone shattering and falling to the ground was almost music to his agitated soul. He waited until he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and then threw himself onto the sofa in a pout.

'10…9…8… wait, that's not Mrs. Hudson. There's only one person in this household with footsteps like that…fantastic…1." The door creaked open and a figure slid into the room.

* * *

The room was dark, the fire having gone out. Molly stepped into one of the shadows and peered around cautiously. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, Molly was surprised to hear a wolf howl. She knew there were wolves in the surrounding woods, but this was the first she had heard one all winter; with the harsher conditions in the dead season, the wolves must be moving closer to the castle in search of food. Molly barely registered a sound of almost distress from the direction of the sofa, and began moving towards the lump that must be Mr. Holmes.

The silence of the room was broken by Molly's hesitant voice. "Mr. Holmes? Is everything all right with you?" She was not certain how else to go about her task and figured that this was as good a start as any. 'At least it garnered a reaction,' she thought as the vaguely human-shaped lump rolled over to face her.

"No, Miss Hooper, I am not all right! I am BORED! This infernal snow is completely unnecessary and the wolves are coming closer and I have nothing to do!"

"Well, what if I tried to entertain you?" Molly offered, quickly trying to think of a way to do just that.

He snorted. "By all means, Miss Hooper, do try."

"Well, I have always wondered why a man with your talents and interests is so sequestered out here in the middle of the forest. Wouldn't it make more sense for you to be in London or some other city, where you can have more constant access to criminals?" Molly hoped desperately that by appealing to his vanity and pride in his mind, he would not be offended by her nosiness.

He was quiet for a moment, and Molly almost began to think that he had no intention at all of answering her, when he began to speak. "I used to do just that. I lived in a flat in London. I had quite the career built up, much to the despair of my parents. They never could accept that neither of their sons was willing to live the idle life of the peers. I was content with my life, chasing down criminals in the heart of the city. I removed myself to this one of our family's country estates after a certain event in my life that showed me that I was wrong about something, that I had made a deadly mistake. I vowed never to do so again."

With that vague answer, he stopped talking. Molly recognized that she had pushed for something too personal, and, although pleased that he trusted her enough to even somewhat answer, moved on to less personal ground. They spent the next twenty minutes engaged in a bizarre question-and-answer session. Sherlock participated because it provided a distraction from everything else; Molly, because she was genuinely interested. Molly asked "safe" questions, about his work, his family, his interests. Sherlock surprised her by asking a couple of questions of his own partway through their discussion.

"Miss Hooper, I must admit I am curious. I know that your mother died when you were quite young, and that you and your father were very close, but I cannot for the life of me deduce why."

"My mother died in childbirth when I was only eight. With her loss, my father and I only had each other. I stepped into my mother's roles and began caring for my father. With that, he became the most important person in the world to me. I cared more for him than I did for myself. I would die for him. My father, on the other hand, had always wanted a son. The baby died with my mother. It was a boy. With that loss, my father made me a surrogate son, teaching me medicine and science and allowing me to learn by his side while he made his rounds as the town doctor. We were a bit cast out because of it. Nobody really appreciated me learning such things. But it just caused us to draw closer together. He was my world." She trailed off as she slipped into her memories. Sherlock just gazed at her for a while with a strange look on his face. He finally broke the silence.

"Why did you not leave? I can see that you wanted more from your life. Why did you let your family influence your decisions? I would never do that. He was just your father."

She sat up straighter and looked at him with a fire burning in her eyes. "You would never understand. Yes, I wanted more, but he was my father. Family might mean nothing to you, you who has everything and can do as you wish, but it is everything to me! You are just a machine hiding behind your scars and your mysterious, tragic past. You know nothing of love and trust and," her voice broke, "and hopes that can never be fulfilled." She wiped angry tears away as he stood up.

Towering over her, glowering at her with unexplained rage, he shouted, "You are the one that knows nothing! You are nothing. You are just a silly woman with silly desires. You father should have married you off when he had the chance instead of filling your head with science. Nobody wants you, and do you know why? No man wants a woman with a mind because she becomes uncontrollable!"

She sat in silence for a moment, shrinking back from his fury. Molly then sat up and calmly walked to the door before her façade broke and her tears began in earnest. With a shaky voice, she turned and shouted back at him, "You _are_ a monster!" and fled out the door.

Down the stairs, through the halls she flew, passing by a startled Mrs. Hudson who called after her. Molly barely slowed as she threw on her cloak and tore open the main door, running out into the night. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care. She only knew that she wanted to get as far away from that horrible man as possible. Blinded by her tears, she ran.

* * *

What felt like hours later, she finally slowed to a walk and looked around. Molly had absolutely no idea where she was. She was entirely lost in the forest. With her attention and focus came some anxiety about her situation. She was lost and alone in the middle of a forest at night in the winter. 'Okay, Molly, you can do this. Think. What would be the best thing to do?'

Her attempts to gather her wits were disrupted by howling wolves – close, howling wolves. Suddenly, several pairs of bright yellow eyes appeared, watching her. One pair disconnected itself from the others and crept closer. A skinny, starving wolf stood not five feet away from her, while others surrounded her entirely.

As she looked around desperately for anything to defend herself with, the wolf snarled and leaped.

* * *

 _A/N: I apologize in advance, as this chapter will likely be the last one for a while. I am about to begin my last year of school before getting my Bachelor's degree, so I am going to be quite busy. I will do my best to write and update soon, but I cannot promise anything. Thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing!_

* * *

Molly closed her eyes and waited for her imminent death. It never came. Instead, she heard a loud smack and a whimper. She opened her eyes and say a cloaked figure standing in front of her with a thick tree branch. Her rescuer stepped closer to Molly as the growling resumed and the entire pack of starving wolves slunk towards the two figures.

A familiar deep voice ordered her, "Behind you. Get to the horse." She turned around and pulled herself onto the horse that was waiting impatiently to leave. The well-trained animal wanted nothing more than to bolt away from the predators, but it waited anxiously for its master's command. Just as Molly situated herself onto the saddle, the wolves attacked again.

Molly shouted, "Come on! Get on the horse!" as the man swung blindly at the wolves with his stick, trying to work his way backwards towards his animal while defending himself from the pack. He turned to climb on behind Molly, and the wolves took advantage of his vulnerable position. Molly watched in horror as he was pulled down underneath the pack. He reared up and managed to throw the animals off and pull himself onto the horse in front of Molly. Having exerted the last of his energy, he collapsed forwards, exposing his torn and bloodied back to Molly's well-trained eyes. Realizing the extent of his injuries, she spurred the horse forward, and the animal swiftly fled into the forest, making its way home.

"Please, Sherlock, please live. I am so sorry! I'm sorry that I was so angry. If you die, the last thing I will have said to you…oh, please live to forgive me." Molly kept up a running commentary of pleas and prayers the entire journey back to the castle.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson nervously looked up at John in the entrance hall, wringing her hands. "They've been gone for quite some time. Do you think they are okay?"

John was about to answer when a clatter arose outside the door. Greg burst through the door. "Watson, I need some help! They're back, but Holmes is hurt. We've got to get him inside!"

Following Greg, John rushed outside to see an exhausted Molly clinging desperately to Sherlock and sobbing. Recognizing the situation as requiring immediate action, John slipped into soldier mode and began barking orders. "Mrs. Hudson!" he called back into the castle, "I need you to get Miss Hooper into some dry clothes. Make sure she isn't injured. Lestrade, help me get Holmes into the study. I need to take a look at him, see the extent of his injuries. Miss Hooper, please do stop crying. We'll take care of everything."

Molly just stared at him blankly as he helped her off the horse and pried her away from Sherlock's still form, passing her off to Mrs. Hudson. Then he turned his attention to the body of his friend, and, together with Greg, he pulled the unconscious man off the animal and into the castle.

* * *

Molly stood in shock as Mrs. Hudson helped her out of her wet clothes and into a modest nightgown. She finally snapped out of it when the older woman tried to help her into bed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but I cannot be going to sleep right now. I simply must go check on Mr. Holmes." With that, she left the bewildered woman behind and, slipping on a dressing gown, ran out of the room.

She stopped outside the open door to the study. She could hear low voices inside and did not wish to interrupt. One of the figures in the room looked up and saw her in the doorway. He gestured to another man, and the two came out. Greg smiled at her kindly, while John just stared at her, a measuring look in his eye.

Finally, John broke the silence. "Miss Hooper, would you care to tell me what happened? Mr. Holmes is being a stubborn fool and refuses to even let me help him, let alone tell me a thing."

Her relief was evident as she asked, "He's all right then? He's awake? May I see him?"

John's frown deepened. "Not until you explain the situation."

She sighed. "He said some heartless things, and I overreacted and fled. I guess he followed me. I am grateful that he did, however, because he was able to save me from the wolves." Her voice broke. "I..I would have died, if it weren't for him. He fought them off and…" Again, her sobs tried to break through her control. "…And they overpowered him. He was able to shake them off and climb onto the horse, and we came straight here. That's what happened. Now, may I see him?"

John and Lestrade were both staring at her in shock. "What? What did I say?"

"Wolves," John repeated. "He fought off the wolves to save you?" His frown had melted into a look of wonder. "Wolves?! Miss Hooper, were you aware of the story behind Mr. Holmes' scars?" At her shake of the head, he continued. "The story is not entirely mine to tell, so I shall leave most of it out, but suffice it to say that five years ago, Holmes was attacked and severely wounded by a pack of starving wolves. He barely survived. To this day, wolves are pretty much the only thing that the man is afraid of – he refuses to go outside in the winter because they come closer to the castle in search of food. Yet, he went out after you and faced up to his biggest fear. What have you done to him?" The last bit was muttered under his breath.

While he continued to ponder, Lestrade shook the stupor off and moved out of the doorway to allow Molly entrance. He cautioned her, "He's awake, but he's in a foul mood. He's more injured than he would like to admit. Watson wasn't successful, but perhaps you can patch him up? I know you are more than capable." She nodded and walked into the dimly lit room.

* * *

Clearing her throat nervously, she approached the chair set before the fire. Sherlock was hunched over toward the flames, shirt off, exposing the injuries the wolves had left on his back. Molly couldn't keep back the gasp of horror. His back was a bloody mess of claw marks and bites. Underneath the fresh wounds, she could see scars that matched the ones on his face: evidence of the previous wolf attack. For the first time, Molly fully understood what it meant that he came after her. She finally understood some of his past. She was surprised to realize that it only warmed her heart further and wanted to know more about this man.

Hearing her gasp, his head shot up, and he glared at her. "What are you doing here?" he snarled.

"I came to see how you were doing. Are you well? May I help you, please?"

"Haven't you done enough?" His angry words were belied by his actions. Sherlock offered his back to her and motioned to John's medical kit on the floor by the chair.

Silently pleased, she crossed the rest of the distance between them and rummaged through the bag to find a needle and some thread. She noticed some rags, a bottle of brandy, and a basin of fresh water nearby and fetched them. Approaching his back with a wet cloth and the needle, she warned him, "This process is going to sting a bit. Please be prepared." He merely nodded his assent.

Slowly, she drew the rag across the torn skin, feeling him flinch, yet making no sound other than a hiss of released breath. As she cleaned his back, trying to clear away the blood and dirt, she found herself focusing on the muscles beneath the skin. She was fascinated by the way they moved and their shape. She wanted to touch them, run her fingers over them, and was promptly horrified by the notion. In order to distract herself from such thoughts, she spoke again.

"Mr. Holmes, I am truly sorry. I should not have run away like that." He grunted in reply. His lack of a response (and an apology) irked her slightly. She continued, "I would not have been tempted to run away if you had been kinder to me. You said some things that were truly awful. You should have been smarter, known to keep your mouth shut!" Her memories of their argument were now flooding her mind, and she was getting angrier. She finished cleaning his back and soaked a rag in brandy. "This will hurt," she mentioned as she splashed the brandied rag around on his back, disinfecting the wounds.

"Well, Miss Hooper, you said some things that were out of line, as well. That was mighty foolish of you to run into the forest the way you did. You could have died! I should have let you! It would have made my life easier." She could tell that he was angry again, the pain of the alcohol adding to the situation, and briefly regretted her loss of temper, but her hurt was still present. Rather than raising her voice as he had his, she remained calm, put the rags away, and threaded the needle.

"You are correct, sir. I apologize for my words. I am sorry for running away and being such an inconvenience for you. In the future, I will try to control my emotional response to your hurtful words. Perhaps you should have left me to die."

He turned to look at her. They spent several minutes with locked eyes. Sherlock was the first to blink, having found whatever it was he was looking for in her gaze. He suddenly deflated, his anger disappearing. "You are correct, as usual, Miss Hooper. Once again, I apologize. My words were poorly chosen. I do not wish you to die. Forgive me?" He looked at her again, sincerity in his eyes.

Stepping closer with the needle, she nodded, anger already forgotten. "Of course I do, Mr. Holmes."

He turned back around so that she could have access to his back. As she started stitching the first of the wounds, he spoke again. "Sherlock."

"Pardon?" She focused on each injury, pulling the needle tight and creating a series of small stitches.

"I would like it if you called me Sherlock. After all, there is no reason for such formality when you are living in my home and sewing me up in my own study. Please, will you call me Sherlock?"

She paused her sewing as she considered a proper response. Nothing came. So, she continued pulling the needle through his skin and simply said, "Of course, Sherlock…and you may call me Molly."

The room was silent as she finished her ministrations, covering his back in another layer of brandy and wrapping his torso in bandages. She tucked the final end into place and stopped in front of him, her hand resting on his shoulder. They locked gazes, and Molly found herself drawn towards him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his eyes. She noticed his eyes flick to her lips and away and then settle on her mouth as the distance between their faces closed. She let her eyes drift shut and let her second hand come to a position on his other shoulder.

"Holmes! I see you let Miss Hooper patch you up. I'm glad." John came into the room. Molly sprang away from Sherlock, blushing heavily.

"Y..Yes, I was able to get his wounds treated. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must retire for the night." Molly gratefully fled from the study and up to her bedroom, although there was no way that she would be sleeping. She knew that she would spend the rest of the night considering what had almost happened – and wondering if he regretted the interruption as much as she did.

* * *

 _A/N: Well, here's another chapter! Many thanks to all who are still reading this. I am not certain when I will be able to get the next chapter posted, but I will do my best. I do apologize for the long waits. Life is just crazy busy. But, I hope you found this chapter worth it! Please let me know what you think!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I am so incredibly sorry for the long wait. The semester just really knocked everything out of me. But it's Christmas break, so I was finally able to work on this chapter. I know it's late, but Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, happy holidays, etc., etc._

 _Once again, I don't own anything._

 _Enjoy! Don't be afraid to leave me your thoughts!_

* * *

After a sleepless night, Molly crept downstairs. She was feeling a bit conflicted, and wanted some time alone to think. Molly both wanted and feared to run into Sherlock again after the previous night. Between their intense conversation, her lingering guilt over her role in his wounds, and their almost…whatever nearly happened, Molly felt incredibly confused. She was terrified that everything changed – or that nothing did. Either way, she did not want to run into Mr. Holmes – Sherlock – until she was able to sort through her thoughts. In an effort to do so, she slipped out into the rose garden, her safe haven.

* * *

Sherlock was still in his study, entrenched deep in his mind palace. He was surprised at the changes that had been made over the last few weeks. The rooms seemed warmer, somehow. He could hear footsteps and laughter echoing through the halls. Not just any laughter, he noticed: the laughter of Miss Hooper, of Molly. When she had taken up residence, he had no idea, but he was surprised to realize that he did not mind. In fact, he welcomed her addition, surprisingly. He only allowed a select few into his palace, including John, Mrs. Hudson, Graham, his parents, and his brother (although less by choice). He certainly did not allow attractive young women in, not since…

And yet, there Molly was, dancing through his mind with her big brown eyes and long hair. He caught a glimpse of her through an open doorway and was surprised to realize that she was wearing a laboratory coat over her dress. It suited her. Sherlock was just about to follow her down the hall, maybe try to figure out why she was there, what she wanted, why he did not worry about her presence in his mind when he was jolted out of his mind palace by the sound of the front door closing.

He stiffly stood from his chair and stumbled towards the castle's entrance. Sherlock slipped out the door and saw the end of a pony tail rounding the corner into the garden. A smile came to his face without warning, and, without thinking through his actions, he began to follow her.

Sherlock turned a corner and came across a somewhat distressing sight. Molly, not entirely dressed appropriately for the cold, was pacing frantically back and forth amongst the dead rosebushes. She was muttering under her breath, completely unaware of his presence. Sherlock felt somewhat ashamed for eavesdropping (his mother did teach him some manners, after all), but found himself entranced, unable to look away. He was only able to catch a word here and there, but it was enough to, for some unknown reason, make him feel unexplainably concerned.

"…going crazy? I'm…afraid…why am I feeling…? … doesn't make sense… he aware? … lonely, my family…"

Sherlock had heard enough, and without alerting the distraught woman, he turned around and headed back towards the castle. He had an idea forming in his mind, but it would require some help. Sherlock needed to find Mrs. Hudson. He brushed past John in his hurry to find his housekeeper, but turned back as a passing thought hit him. "John," he called back to his friend, "you'll find Miss Hooper in her garden, dressed inappropriately. Perhaps you could take her a cloak?" He spun back around and continued on his mission, completely missing the baffled look the soldier gave him.

John just shook his head before heading up the stairs to fulfill his friend's request.

* * *

The few weeks until Christmas passed unbearably slowly for Molly. She had yet to see a single sign of Sherlock since the evening she cleaned and stitched his injuries. In fact, she had barely seen a single soul since that day. Her regular teas with Mrs. Hudson became increasingly infrequent; she had seen the older woman only a handful of times. From her, she did learn that Sherlock was healing well, but she was still concerned that she hadn't seen the man. Molly had only caught a glimpse of Mr. Watson and Mr. Lestrade riding into the forest the day after the wolf incident, ploughing through the snow with their horses. They hadn't been back since.

Molly was used to being alone. When she lived with her father, she spent most of her days by herself. Yet, for some reason, her sense of isolation was increasing the longer she went without seeing anybody. Maybe she had been spoiled by having so many friends constantly around. It also didn't help that she was bored! (Oh, heavens, she was turning into Sherlock.) She couldn't take long walks because of the cold and snow; she was no longer helping with any experiments or lab work because Sherlock hadn't asked for her presence.

After about a week of complete boredom, Molly got desperate. Never one particularly interested in the feminine crafts, Molly asked Mrs. Hudson (on one of the rare occasions she saw her friend) for some needles and yarn.

Then, she started to knit.

Her efforts were slow and rather embarrassing. She started over again and again, struggling to learn a skill that she had never developed. If there was one thing that Molly Hooper had plenty of, though, it was time and patience. So she would pull it apart, gather the yarn together, and start again. She had a plan, and with nothing better to do, she would apply her fine motor skills developed in the laboratory to the task before her.

* * *

Christmas dawned bright and peaceful. Sherlock barely noticed the beauty of the morning as he read the letters that John and Lestrade had brought back with them when they arrived late the night before. With a grunt, he finally allowed himself to relax for the first time since he had started on his project. It was finally ready, and he was anxious for Molly to wake so that he could show her. He hated to admit it, but he missed her. He had been so busy over the last few weeks that he hadn't had time to even speak a few words with her. He hadn't realized how much her presence meant to him and how much he enjoyed working in his laboratory with her. Now that Christmas was finally here, he looked forward to returning to their normal routine. While he was pondering on how he would present his gift to Molly (and not at all feeling nervous – why would he be nervous?), Sherlock slipped into a deep sleep, his body no longer able to continue without rest.

* * *

Molly woke and stretched in her bed, enjoying the way the sunlight played across her ceiling. She rolled over and saw her completed presents beside her bed and sat up, realizing what day it was. The past few weeks had been painfully slow and lonely, and she was determined to end her misery. Whether Sherlock wanted to or not, they were going to have a conversation. Molly was simply not going to let him avoid her any longer.

Once she was dressed, she grabbed the pile of gifts and left her room in search of her friends. She gratefully stumbled upon Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. After exchanging a cheery greeting, Molly presented the older woman with a somewhat uneven, but lovingly made pair of mittens. Mrs. Hudson graciously accepted the present and sent Molly on her way to find the boys, who she learned had finally returned from their journey, with a bun still warm from baking for breakfast.

Molly wandered outside and located both Mr. Lestrade and Dr. Watson in the stables feeding the horses. Both were gifted a knit hat and immediately pulled them on in the brisk air. She was pleased to hold a conversation with them, however brief, after not having seen them in some time. Fortunately, both were safe. She was confused, however, because neither would tell her where they had gone and, in fact, seemed to be keeping something else from her as well.

Puzzled, but unable to get any more information from them, she left the two gentlemen and began her search for the recipient of her final knitting project.

* * *

She tapped lightly on the door of Sherlock's room and hearing nothing, turned to begin the journey to the laboratory. However, just as she began the descent down the stairs, a noise came from the room. Curious, Molly opened the door enough to slip through and was confronted with the sight of a sleeping Sherlock.

Heart softening at the sight, Molly smiled a little and started to creep back the way she came. However, she was distracted by the peaceful look on Sherlock's face, and she accidentally backed into the door, sending it slamming into the wall. The sleeping man shot upright and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Face burning with embarrassment, Molly steeled herself for the much needed conversation and some answered questions.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Here's another chapter, and you didn't even have to wait four months! I still don't own a thing. Please let me know what you think!_

* * *

Sherlock startled awake and tried to force the unexpected sleep away, looking around for the source of the noise that awoke him. Standing by the door was a heavily blushing Molly Hooper. He hid a small grin at her expression and motioned her into his room, knowing that this was as good a time as any for their conversation. Clearing his throat, he prepared himself to launch into his practiced speech.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you. Although, honestly, it's not like I'd even know you were here. You've been avoiding me for so long that I just about assumed I'd chased you away. I am sorry for my actions, and I hope that whatever I did, you'll forgive me. I don't want to lose our friendship. It means too much to me. Please, please forgive m-?"

Her rambling cuts off as suddenly as it started as Sherlock began to laugh. This wasn't his normal, slightly sardonic laugh. His head was thrown back, and the laugh was originating from deep within him. He was genuinely amused, something that Molly wasn't certain she'd ever seen before.

Sherlock noted her silence and quickly composed himself. "Do forgive me, Miss Hooper. I was certainly not laughing at you. There is no reason for you to be apologizing to me. In fact, I am sorry for avoiding you. I'd rather hoped you wouldn't have noticed it, although I realize I was wrong to underestimate you in such a manner. I do value your friendship. As you know, I don't have many friends, and it is an honor to call you one. This is actually the cause of my absence. I have a Christmas gift for you."

Molly listened, enraptured, as he spoke. She was pleasantly surprised to see a faint blush form over his cheekbones as he finished. His last phrase caught her attention, however. "Oh, I have a gift for you as well!"

She quickly thrust the last item in her hands forward. Sherlock reached out and took it, his fingertips slightly grazing her palm, and revealed a knitted scarf. He quickly deduced the item, recognizing Molly's beginning status as a knitter, and noting the areas where she had made a mistake, some of which she'd caught and tried to fix, others unseen by the maker.

Sherlock looked up at the young woman in front of him, and without a word, wrapped the scarf around his neck. Her gentle smile and slight blush as she looked at the ground told him that he'd done exactly the right thing.

"Thank you, Molly. I appreciate the scarf and the effort you expended on it. I am certain that it shall keep me warm in the cold and damp." He paused for a moment. "I know that you've been rather lonely here, and I wanted to do something special for you for the holiday season. On the eve of the new year, I shall be hosting a ball here. Lestrade and John have returned just this morning with replies – all in the affirmative – to the invitations. Arrangements have been made to clear the forest road, admittedly not an easy task, and the castle shall be filled with music and dancing, if only just for one night."

He was a little disappointed that Molly hadn't said anything. She was just standing there, staring at him. "And, did I forget to mention, your father will be coming."

He had barely finished his sentence when she threw herself forward and embraced him. Then, further shocking them both, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, before backing away from him and fleeing towards the door.

She paused on her way out, turning just long enough to mutter a quick, but genuine, "Happy Christmas, Sherlock", and continuing on her flight down the stairs.

She completely missed the baffled look on his face as he placed his fingertips on the spot where her lips had just been.

* * *

The next few days found the castle a flurry of excitement and movement. Despite the grand plans for the ball, Sherlock had failed to enlist extra help, meaning the few inhabitants of the castle were frantic in their attempts to prepare. Mrs. Hudson spent all day in the kitchens, concocting delicious meals for their guests. John and Lestrade were busy hanging up decorations and bringing in greenery from the forest, including a magnificent Christmas tree. Molly enjoyed placing ornaments and candles on the tree, ensuring that it was suitable to be the centerpiece for the ballroom. All were involved in dusting and sweeping and otherwise making certain that the room could properly host a small gathering of London's elite. Sherlock would occasionally help, but he spent much of the time locked up in his room, working on his latest project. Nobody was quite brave enough to force him to help more, not after what he had already done. Finally, the day itself arrived – and so did the guests.

* * *

Fortunately, no additional snow had fallen, so the roads remained clear and passable. Early the morning of the last day of the year, the first carriage rolled up to the castle. Molly, who was currently helping Sherlock place the finishing touches on the grand staircase, heard the man himself heave a massive sigh as the insignia on the carriage came into view.

"And so it begins." He looked over at his new friend and presented his arm to her. "Molly, are you prepared to welcome our guests?"

She nodded and looked away to hide her blush at the rush of pleasure that "our guests" gave her. She and Sherlock would never truly have "our" anything, and she knew it. Silently chiding herself to not listen to such thoughts, she followed Sherlock outside. An older couple alighted from the carriage, while Lestrade guided the driver towards the stables.

The woman stepped out in front of her husband and straight towards Molly's companion. "William, my boy! It's been too long. Young man, stop dodging your mother and give me a kiss!"

Molly simply gaped as Sherlock conceded and bent down to brush a light kiss on his mother's – his mother's! – cheek. The gentleman, who Molly assumed to be Lord Holmes, came towards Molly.

"You must be Miss Hooper, my dear. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. I really had no idea that Sherlock had invited his parents, Lord and Lady Holmes."

Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock's mother had abandoned her son to come meet the lovely young woman who had inspired him to go to such effort – and she heard that last comment. Specifically, she heard Molly use her son's Christian name. Hiding a grin, she joined the conversation.

"Violet, dear! I don't feel old enough to be called Lady Holmes! You've already met my husband, Siger. It truly is wonderful to meet you. William failed to mention how lovely you are! I do so look forward to getting to know you better"

Blushing, she responded, "Well, then…Violet. I do hope you'll call me Molly. I look forward to getting to know the parents of the world's only consulting detective!"

Sherlock, picking up on the curious (and slightly scheming) look in his mother's eyes, moved over, encouraging everybody into the house and out of the cold.

* * *

The rest of the morning and afternoon passed quickly. A handful more carriages pulled up, unloading their occupants. Molly was introduced to numerous people, and resigned herself to having to ask for names repeatedly that evening at the ball. The one face that she hoped to recognize, however, didn't arrive until the hour before the party started. It was at that point that a single horse came up the road, revealing the rider to be Molly's father. The reunion was joyfully tear-filled, and Sherlock simply watched, not wanting to interrupt. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt and tucked the feeling into his mind palace in the ever-growing room dedicated to Molly. Father and daughter made their way into the castle and only separated when Mrs. Hudson called Molly away to dress for the evening. John made certain that Mr. Hooper found his room and had time to prepare himself as well.

Just as Sherlock turned to follow his friend and guest, the sound of a carriage coming alerted him to the arrival of the last guest.

"Put off your arrival to the last possible moment, didn't you, brother?" Sherlock greeted the man who descended from the dark carriage.

Mycroft "The British Government" Holmes ignored his younger brother as he helped his wife of two years, Lady Anthea Holmes, out of the carriage. Sherlock would never understand why his brother chose to marry, nor how he managed to convince Anthea to agree. Shaking his head a little, he greeted his sister-in-law.

Overlooking the usual tension between the two brothers, Anthea addressed Sherlock. "Do tell me, when will I be able to meet this young lady you have staying with you? I really am quite interested in seeing the woman who convinced you to open your home up to some of London, something quite unlike you."

Sherlock, trying to maintain his cool façade and not reveal any of his confusing thoughts, replied, "I am certain you will meet her tonight. She is currently dressing for the ball. If you would excuse me, I am sure that John will be able to see you to your room, if you want to prepare for the party yourselves after your journey."

* * *

Molly gasped as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. For the past six days, she had agonized over what to wear to the party, but simply could not find something among her dresses that she felt would be appropriate. Finally, she had settled for the least simple of her gowns, knowing that she would be terribly underdressed. Just as she went to pull it from the wardrobe, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.

"Yoo-hoo, Molly, dear. I have something for you. A late Christmas gift. I do apologize that I wasn't able to get it to you earlier, but I'm afraid that I only finished it today." As she spoke, the older woman revealed an absolutely lovely ball gown, simple yet elegant in design and lilac in color. It was perfectly Molly.

After helping Molly dress and fix her hair, the two women gazed upon the result. Mrs. Hudson couldn't help but get a little teary-eyed as she gazed upon the woman she now thought of as a daughter. "You're lovely, Molly. I hope that you enjoy yourself tonight. I really do."

Molly turned and hugged her friend. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I will never be able to thank you enough for this gift. The dress is everything I could have imagined." They shared a smile and then both began the descent to the ballroom.

* * *

The guests were all assembled. Sherlock was trying to hide in the shadows, still uncomfortable with people staring at his face. Many of the guests there that night hadn't seen him since the accident with I- He quickly shut that thought down and focused on listening to what his mother was saying as she tried to fill him in on the happenings in Society.

He glanced towards the doors as his eyes roamed the room and stopped short as a vision entered the room.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Once again, I own nothing! Aren't you lucky?_ _! You get two chapters tonight!_

* * *

Sherlock abruptly walked away from his mother, ignoring her sound of disapproval that turned into interest as she noticed who caught his attention. He made his way through the assembled party-goers and bowed before a surprised Molly. He took her hand and brushed a light kiss over her gloved knuckles. "You look lovely tonight Molly," he intoned in a low voice, causing a blush to form on her cheeks. "May I have the honor of your first dance this evening?"

She nodded as the small orchestra started a new song, and he pulled her onto the floor and into his arms. Molly lost herself in the feeling of being held in his arms as he guided her around the floor, completely in tune with the music.

The evening passed quickly for Molly. She danced with several of the guests, including both Lord Siger and Lord Mycroft Holmes. She spent some time speaking with Violet; Molly was convinced that the women was keeping something from her, but she couldn't figure out what or why, and decided to just let it go. She was also introduced to Anthea Holmes and was delighted to discover that the two women formed a quick friendship.

Towards the end of the night, Sherlock offered Molly another dance. This time, the song was slower and felt more intimate. She felt her heart speed up, as it did any time she was near him, but did not feel afraid. Molly never felt afraid any time he was near. That was one reason she loved him. The thought practically slapped her in the face. She loved Sherlock Holmes. If he hadn't been holding her due to the dance, Molly may have collapsed right there in the middle of the dance floor. She felt exhilarated and let herself revel in the feeling of being in Sherlock's embrace, knowing the opportunity may never come again. She never expected anything to come from their friendship, and she would never do anything to jeopardize it, so she would enjoy the moment while it lasted and move on with life, albeit with a strong change in her feelings. She would do it, though, for him.

All too soon, the dance ended. Molly politely applauded the musicians, along with everybody else. Suddenly, Sherlock left her side and headed towards the small dais where the musicians played. He cleared his throat and made an announcement. "Happy New Year, to all of my guests. I am not one for long public speeches, so that shall suffice. To end this evening, I would like to play a piece dedicated to the woman for whom I threw this little soiree, Miss Molly Hooper."

Molly blushed furiously as he picked up his violin and started to play the most beautiful song that she had ever heard. Although he hadn't said so, she knew that Sherlock Holmes had written the piece for her.

* * *

Sherlock blocked out all of the other guests in the room, focusing solely on Molly. He had spent the days since Christmas writing this song, attempting to sort out his thoughts, trying to figure out why she had become such a permanent fixture in his mind palace. He had failed, but decided that such a piece should not go to waste, and, as he had written it with her in mind, he figured that he should at least present her with what he now considered _her_ song.

The song built toward the end, and suddenly, it was as if a wall collapsed in his mind palace. He was flooded with emotion. He knew. Sherlock Holmes finally figured out why Molly Hooper had taken up residence in his mind palace without his permission. Somehow, some way, he had started to fall in love with the girl. With that realization came a wave of pleasure and joy. Immediately after, came intense fear and self-loathing.

He ended the piece and practically threw down his bow as he stormed out of the ballroom. The guests cried out behind him, and he could hear John attempting to make excuses, but he didn't pause to listen. He threw himself down the stairs and into his laboratory, slamming the door, only to whirl around with a death-stare as Molly herself entered the room behind him.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. 'No,' he wanted to scream. Instead, he simply responded, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, you left in a bit of a hurry. Thank you, for the song. It was beautiful. I don't really have words for it. Just…thank you."

His treacherous heart wanted to reply, 'It was beautiful because you are.'

Throwing a beaker across the room, enjoying the sound of shattering glass, Sherlock screamed at the all-too-innocent woman in front of him. "Just leave me be. Haven't you done enough? You're just like She was! You pretend one thing while ultimately planning something else."

Molly gasped in shock at his outburst. "I'm just like who, Sherlock? I don't understand! What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play innocent with me. You know exactly what you did. I know everything. Get out of my life… _Irene_."

Her confusion only grew as he called her the unfamiliar name. However, the confusion turned into terror as he whirled around, grabbed another glass vial, and threw it – this time, towards her. She turned and ran out of the room. Tears of fear and anger blinding her, she stumbled up the stairs, and ran into the concerned arms of Lord and Lady Holmes, with John and Mrs. Hudson right behind them. Violet pulled the sobbing girl into her embrace, trying to soothe her.

Down the stairs, the gathered ensemble could hear more things breaking and mostly unintelligible shouting, but one word that clearly kept coming through was the name " _Irene_."

John sighed and walked over to Molly. "I'm sorry, Molly." He sighed again and looked at Sherlock's parents, who nodded. "It's time you know."

* * *

 _A/N: I know it's a little short, but this was the best stopping place. Let me know what you think. I cannot promise when the next update will be, but hopefully, soon!_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out. I've been pretty busy lately. Hopefully, this can help make up for the delay a little bit by maybe answering some questions! I still own nothing, but feel free to read it and enjoy anyways!_

* * *

Still in a completely shocked state from the event of the past hour, Molly allowed John to lead her into the private sitting room off Sherlock's study. They were joined by Lord and Lady Holmes and Mycroft and Anthea. Mrs. Hudson silently entered and placed a tea tray on the table, and her father slipped in and stood against the back wall, not saying a word, but nodding at her, telling her he was there. Anthea moved directly to Molly's side, taking her hand and offering a supportive, friendly female presence. As Molly looked around the little group, bewildered by all that had happened, she found the pain in her heart easing just a touch, soothed by the knowledge that despite everything, she still had friends, and people who loved her.

John looked towards Lord Holmes, who nodded, giving the good doctor permission to share the tale. He took a deep breath and began.

"About five years ago, Sherlock was at a high point in his life. He had finally established himself as a consulting detective and the Bow Street Runners were turning to him on a fairly regular basis. His mind was a finely tuned instrument, like a scalpel, delicate and able to cut precisely through the messy details to solve every problem thrown at him. I had never seen him in such fine form. Then the unthinkable happened. My best friend, the man who swore that sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side, the man who was more machine than emotion-feeling human – fell in love. Her name was Irene Adler. He met her on a case. She was new to town, and as the summer passed, this mysterious and gorgeous woman broke through all of his defenses. She owned him, body, mind, and even heart. I could not have been happier for my friend. While courting the young lady, he was also entangled in the most difficult case that Sherlock Holmes has ever had to face – Professor James Moriarty."

Molly's gasp of recognition was the first sound she had made since John began his tale.

"Ah, you recognize the name, of course. Moriarty was the man who truly made Sherlock Holmes a renowned name. He made the man – and he broke him. Knowing that he could die as a result of the upcoming confrontation, Holmes knew that he could not wait any longer regarding his affections for Miss Adler. He bought a ring and prepared to propose. The night he intended to ask her to marry him, the web that Professor Moriarty wove shifted, and Holmes took up the scent like a bloodhound. Of course I came along with him. We crept into an abandoned warehouse by the Thames and heard voices up ahead. I watched as his eyes lit up with the thrill of the chase. Just as we were about to round the corner to finally catch Moriarty, a new voice joined in with the laughing men, a female voice. The eyes that were just so full of light darkened suddenly, and my heart stopped. Irene Adler spoke into the sudden silence. 'Jim! Oh my darling, you were right! He's planning to propose tonight. The great Sherlock Holmes, fallen for a charming young lady. Don't worry, my love, he's all yours."

Although I tried to stop him, Sherlock charged around the corner to see with his own eyes Moriarty and Irene wrapped in an embrace. Molly, I watched it: I watched the cage drop back over his heart, even more impenetrable than before. He took out half a dozen of Moriarty's men while the elicit couple ran off into the shadows. He was never the same after that."

John sighed.

"He left me behind to aid in the imprisonment of the men we had captured, while he went for a ride to clear his head. The next morning, I received a letter from Lady Holmes. My friend had pushed himself hard, encouraging his horse towards his family home. Nearly there, having ridden most of the night, his horse was spooked. I don't know what by, perhaps it was a result of the poor animal's utter exhaustion, but Holmes was thrown from the horse. Then the wolves attacked. I've already told you the rest. He bears the scars to this day. However, not all of them are physical."

Another pause. Molly could barely breathe. She was fighting back sobs, but failing to hold back the tears which fell freely down her face. Everything started to fall into place, to make sense. She could hardly believe everything that the gentle man she loves had been through. He may act like an unfeeling monster, but she finally understood that it was only because he felt so much.

"Those scars are none of your concern, and that tale is not yours to share. Especially not with some girl who thinks more of herself than she ought, one who has no place here and no claim to my life."

Stunned silence ensued following Sherlock's remark. So wrapped up in John's story, not one occupant of the room had noticed the detective skulking in the shadows outside the doorway. However, that silence lasted but a moment until chaos erupted in response to the bitter words that Sherlock had spat into the room. Molly's father stood up and approached the taller man in fury, determined to avenge his daughter's honor. John threw himself towards his friend, hoping to both protect Sherlock from the angry father and to drag the man out of the room before he could say anything else. Lord and Lady Holmes looked horrified, Mycroft chuckled slightly while his wife lightly smacked him, and Mrs. Hudson gasped and backed against the wall. Molly simply sat quietly in her chair, absorbing Sherlock's hurtful comment. When she stood up, everybody in the room quieted and turned to watch her approach towards Sherlock.

Molly stopped when she was right in front of him, looking up into his eyes. She shook her head a little, reaching up and resting her hand lightly on his cheek, before saying simply, "I forgive you." Sherlock's eyes closed and he didn't shake her away, so she continued. "I know you're hurt; I know now just how badly you're hurt. But never forget how many people still love you. And remember: I am not Irene."

With that, she withdrew her hand and slipped out the door and up the stairs. The other occupants of the room glanced around at each other before following her example and retiring to their own rooms for the night. Even the avenging father recognized that the time was not right and left the detective to his own devices. The room returned to an empty silence and Sherlock Holmes, great consulting detective, stood alone in a doorway, confused, conflicted, and feeling strangely empty and bereft of something, feeling only the tingling warmth on his cheek from Miss Molly Hooper's hand.

* * *

 _That's all I have now, but I finally have the rest of the story outlined. I'm expecting one, maybe two more chapters. Please let me know what you think!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I have no excuses, just a reminder that I still don't own a thing. Just the disgraceful delays between chapters._

* * *

The next morning dawned cold and quiet. Molly Hooper sat up and brushed the dried tears from her face. Having spent the night crying, her practical nature woke with the sun, and she decided that she needed to act rather than cry any longer. She gathered herself and started to pack. Changing out of the beautiful ball gown, Molly slipped on her simple dress that she had worn the night of her arrival. She sorted through her belongings, attempting to determine what she would leave behind for Mr. Holmes to dispose – and what she would take with her when she left. Molly would not – could not – stay another day in the same abode as Sherlock. _Sherlock_. Another tear spilled down her cheek without permission. Despite all of her love for him, she knew that she could not fix that broken man. Only he could do that. And she refused to put herself through any more pain while he shut everybody out.

* * *

A soft knock on the door interrupted Molly's musings, and, following her admittance, John Watson entered the room.

"Molly." She sniffed and turned to look at him. John could see the pain and heartbreak on his new friend's face and hated himself for whatever part he played in bringing about this outcome. "You're leaving."

"Yes. I'm going to go back with my father. He needs me. His health is failing, and I…I don't have a reason to stay here anymore."

John nodded, and a silence ensued for a while before he broke It again. "Last night… last night, Molly, I told you that I hadn't seen him happier."

Molly's mind took her back to that part of the story, to the faint flash of pain and jealousy that John's words evoked. Hearing that Sherlock was capable of love for a beautiful woman, knowing that he could love someone – just not her – hurt her more than she had expected. At the time, her personal pain was overshadowed by her pain on behalf of the betrayed, but now, now, she fully felt her heart shattering into pieces. Before she could fully drown in her sorrow, John interrupted to continue his story.

"However, that was not entirely truthful. These last few weeks with you, Sherlock has been happy. More than that, though, he has been content. That's something that I hadn't seen even with Irene. With her, he was full of life, happy, passionate. Lately, his passion has started to return, but it's been controlled, slower. He's been able to enjoy life for what it is, not just what it could be. He seems to be living each day, not just existing until the next case, the way he was with Irene. He is…content. It's because of you, Molly. You've changed him! He may be a stubborn fool, but because of your influence in his life, he is becoming a better man. Just…don't give up on him yet, Molly, please. Give him some time. He needs you, probably more than he has yet realized."

Molly listened and sat quietly for a while after John finished his speech. "Thank you, John, for telling me this. But it doesn't change anything. I promise that I won't give up on him. I will probably love"- voice breaking – "him for the rest of my life, but I cannot stay. I'm sorry. I have to go."

"I understand. Molly, if you ever need anything, please write. I will come immediately, whatever the problem may be."

She nodded, and John Watson took Molly's hand, placing a gentle kiss upon it, before picking up her chest and lugging it downstairs. He secured it in her father's carriage, and turned to help the lady herself up the steps. Molly bade a tearful goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, hugging both her and Lady Anthea. She waved to Greg and Lord and Lady Holmes, and even Lord Mycroft managed a brief quirk of his lips in the semblance of a smile and Molly mounted the steps.

As the carriage pulled out of the castle gates, Molly twisted in her seat to look one last time at her former home. Her eyes lifted to the tower in which she had spent so many wonderful hours with Sherlock and saw the man standing in his window, silently watching her leave. She thought, for a moment, that his hand lifted in a brief wave, but she blinked and he was as still as a statue. With that, Molly left Sherlock Holmes' castle – and her love – behind her.

* * *

Two years had passed since Molly left Sherlock Holmes and all of her friends on that winter day. The entire experience felt like a dream. In fact, her dreams at night often are accompanied by the song that Sherlock had written for her. Her soul had memorized it, and every note fell upon her heart with the weight of the past.

The monotonous life that Molly had entered upon her departure – caring for her ill father, making her rounds as the village midwife and unofficial doctor, and falling into bed each night completely exhausted – was broken one February evening. Returning from her rounds one evening, she stopped in surprise at the unfamiliar carriage outside her home. As she entered, a messenger greeted her extending a letter towards Molly without a word. With trembling fingers, she took the proffered note.

 _My dearest Molly Hooper,_

 _I hope that my letter finds you well. I cannot tell you, dear, how many times my thoughts have turned to you. It was only due to the command of my ridiculous son that I have not reached out to you earlier. It is with great joy that I write you now. I would imagine that you remember my daughter-in-law Anthea. Well, she is currently with child, anticipated to make an appearance within the next month. Both of us – or might I even say_ all _of us – hope and desire that you will make the journey to attend at the birth. We would trust no one more than you._

 _My footman is to accompany you on your travels._

 _I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you soon!_

 _Yours,_

 _Lady Violet Holmes_

After rereading the note a second and third time, Molly glanced up at the footman. "Is she serious?"

"Yes, Miss. I have been directed to assist you to Lord Mycroft Holmes' estate where the Lady currently resides to support her daughter-in-law."

Molly shot a guilty glance towards her father, bundled in his bed. He coughed before speaking, "Molly, love, she's your friend. I saw your face as you read that letter. Please, let an old fool have some peace knowing that when I die, you'll have friends to care for you. Go: help Lady Holmes. I'll still be here when you return. I'm just stubborn enough to ensure I keep that promise, I assure you."

With her father's blessing, Molly grabbed a cloak, picked up her medicine bag, and followed the footman to the waiting carriage.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you to the guest who reviewed asking for an update. I'd actually finished it earlier today, but hadn't had a chance to post it yet, so this one is dedicated to you! Please review and let me know what you think!_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: I own nothing. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Utterly exhausted, Molly backed towards the door of the birthing room, smiling at her friend. Anthea rested on the bed, holding her baby, who had been in no hurry to come. The labour had already been in process for nearly twelve hours by the time Molly arrived, Anthea having gone into labour shortly after Lady Holmes sent for Molly, and had continued for another twelve afterwards. Progress was slow, but finally, the young child made an appearance. Molly spared one last glance for mother and child before exiting the room. Outside, she was greeted by an anxious – nearly frantic – Lord Mycroft Holmes. The British Government, as Molly had once heard Sherlock call his brother, cleared his throat and straightened his cravat, attempting to appear less disheveled. Molly stifled a brief giggle before dipping into a small curtsy.

"How is she?" Mycroft asked, before Molly could say a word.

"Lord Holmes, mother and baby are both doing well, albeit entirely wearied. If you would like, you may enter and meet your new heir." She stifled a second giggle at the look of complete relief, followed by shock and joy, that washed over the gentleman's face. Without another word, Lord Holmes brushed past the young lady and into his wife's room. She breathed out heavily, shoulders slumping as the past couple of days finally caught up to her. She turned around, planning to search out an unoccupied bed for a couple hours of rest, only to stop short at the sight in front of her.

Sherlock stood in the hallway, waiting for her. Although he was half-hidden by shadow (vaguely reminiscent of their first meeting, Molly thought), she could see that he looked haggard and ill. Obviously, the past two years had not treated her one-time friend well.

Neither said a word for several minutes; both simply stared at each other, unwilling to break the tense silence.

Sherlock finally took a deep breath and spoke. "Miss Hooper…Molly…I know that I have treated you poorly, and that you owe me absolutely nothing. If you choose to send me away, I completely understand; I will go, and never bother you again. But I ask, please, grant me this: a walk and a chance to talk with you."

If the hoarse, desperate tone in his voice did not soften her heart, the pleading look in his eyes was enough to convince her to acquiesce to his request. He shuffled forward, offering his arm, which she hesitantly took. They made their way out of the house and started aimlessly walking over the grounds of the estate. After wandering for a few minutes in silence, Sherlock once again breaks it.

"I know that John told you much of the story of my past. However, there were some gaps, some details that even he did not know. I would like to finish that tale, if you will permit me." At her gentle nod, he continued. "After…after _Irene_ , I vowed that Mycroft was right. He had always sworn that 'caring is not an advantage.' I swore that I would never again allow myself to care for somebody. I did quite a wonderful job, too, rebuilding my walls thicker and stronger than ever. But then – then I met you. You broke through my walls more thoroughly than Irene had. I couldn't rebuild them again, even if I wanted to – and I wanted to. It wasn't immediate, by any means, but over time, I realized that my very mind palace had become dedicated to you. You have more than just a room, now. You own the entire thing! That terrified me. I couldn't believe that I had let myself fall again – harder, deeper."

He suddenly cut off, and they walked a couple moments longer in the quiet, Sherlock lost in thought, Molly stunned by the revelations. After a couple moments, Sherlock spoke again.

"Molly, I've missed you every day. I've thought of you every day. The last two years have been absolutely misery without you. The work isn't enough for me any more. When you left, you took the joy and passion from everything. I guess _you_ are my joy and passion now. I've been stubborn, Molly, and prideful – but no more! I am so sorry. I'm sure that I'm butchering this apology, but I do mean it. I am sorry for hurting you. You deserve to be happy, Molly Hooper.

I know that I absolutely do not deserve you. How could I? But I love you! And if you can bear to love a beast, I will do all that I possibly can to make you happy."

By this point, they have stopped walking. Molly lifted her eyes to meet Sherlock's. She raised her hand to lightly trace the scars on his face before resting her palm upon his cheek as she had that fateful night two years before.

"You silly, stubborn man." A couple of tears broke free from her eyes, but she smiled through them and whispered, "Of course I love you."

With that, Molly and Sherlock shared a loving kiss – the first of many to come for this Beast and his Beauty.

* * *

 _A/N: Wow. This has been an adventure over a year in the making. I am incredibly grateful to all of you who have reviewed this story at any point, and I hope that you managed to hang in with me. This was a new challenge for me (a multi-chapter fic), and it was harder than I had anticipated. Thank you for your patience and support! Please let me know what you thought!_


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